


And The Humidity Clung On

by ToxicBabes



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Confession, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Hong Kong, Injury, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 19:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes
Summary: Smoke's carelessness finally takes the last straw.





	And The Humidity Clung On

**Author's Note:**

> This work is written for the FUCKYEAHRAINBOWSIX Valentines event. I'd like to thank the people arranging this event! 
> 
> So I started this fic on Friday night, sometime after midnight then stayed up until around 3 AM writing it. Got three thousand words down, slept, then woke up and on Saturday night I finished it. It was kind of a lightbulb idea I had, but also a concept I've been thinking about for a long time. I've always really liked the Smoke/Mute ship simply because of their characterisation and how they contrast one another, but never had the chance to write anything extensive on them. I wanted to write a multi-chapter fic for them but I'm currently working on Epiphany, and this piece managed to really nicely into a one-shot without the need for any continuation- or I think anyways. 
> 
> As for the setting, I was reading some Steinbeck and the imagery of the heat and scenery reminded me a lot of my past vacations in Hong Kong. I wanted to try and work my descriptions and setting the atmosphere, the mood and all that, and Hong Kong is a place that is really distinct in my head in comparison to UK where I live. And as I was writing this and thinking of HK, somehow my mind was fixated on cockroaches. They'd sometimes appear during the night and we don't get them in the UK so it's also something that oddly stood out for me. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for listening to my TED talk. Check me out at a-r-k-t-i-c on Tumblr. Thank you for reading!

The air moved through Mute’s lungs like sludge. It was hot out. Over thirty degrees Celsius, something he never got to experience in England. In theory, it seemed great, it wouldn’t be cold and wet like always, except now it was hot and wet, with very little breeze leaving everyone sluggish and complaining about the broken air conditioning at the base they were stationed at. Doc gave an hour-long presentation on heat stroke, how to avoid it, how to recognise it, how to convince him to help after getting heat stroke because they weren’t taking his presentation seriously. After that everyone remembered to sip a bit of water occasionally and keep a flask with them.

The day after their mission, Lesion took a few of them out for a meal. It didn’t feel quite right though. Smoke wasn’t there, he was recovering in hospital after taking a shot to his side, asleep under the haze of pain medication and drugs. Reluctant, Mute ate a few baskets of shrimp dumplings, then helped hoover down the pork dumplings. He never liked to admit it but he was prone to stress eating. To justify it, he hadn’t eaten since the morning of the mission which was more than twenty-four hours ago, his stomach had coiled up tightly in anxiousness as he sat by Smoke’s bedside, studying every slight twitch and movement in his peaceful expression. The table was mostly silent, the British chewing their food then washing it down with a sip of Chinese tea. They exchanged looks, then occasionally looked over at Lesion who sensed their low mood and chose to keep the food coming rather than trying to spark a conversation.

Mute reached for his third pork bun, tore off the paper under it and bit in. He couldn’t shake away the feeling that the silence at the table wouldn’t be so glum if Smoke was present. Part of him was devastated and internally his mind was storming with worry despite knowing he will recover. He was hurt. Time and time again he warned Smoke to take caution, not to run out so recklessly like a feral animal with bloodlust because sooner or later it would result in him getting injured- or worse, killed. Despite that, Smoke still treated missions as if they were fun vacations. He didn’t take his word seriously and fought too aggressively. This time it nearly cost him a kidney. Not only was Mute hurt by this, but he also _wanted_ to feel angry.

He wanted for Smoke to know how much worry he felt, how his chest ached and the pain that stirred in his heart as he cried in the shower, trying his best to muffle his sobbing so others wouldn’t hear. He wanted to push him away for not giving a single damn about what he told him, asked of him to do. He would not coddle him when the pain of his wounds became too intense and he swore on his soul not to become soft on him. Yet he couldn’t. He didn’t have the strength to leave him to suffer, instead, he’d come crawling back each time to help him onto his feet, remind him to take his medications and change his dressings. It was always like this. Mute could never turn away, and Smoke remained oblivious to his emotions.

They discharged him several days later. As Thatcher said, he’d spring back in no time and soon enough he was back on his feet, albeit limping slightly and unable to walk any faster than an amble. That morning Mute helped him pack his bags and lent him a shoulder to lean on during their walk to the truck. His jokes put a smile upon his face and it was like the sun emerging after a bout of dark rainfall. Between moments of laughter, Mute realised he had forgotten to give him the silent treatment, the cold shoulder which he had planned to in order to truly get Smoke to feel guilty for his reckless behaviour. They returned to their shared dorm at the military base by early afternoon with the rest of the day ahead of them.

Smoke sprawled on his bed and played on his phone, his shirt off and discarded by his bag, a pair of basketball shorts clinging to his hips with the waistband of his bright boxers showing. The electric fan had been set to sweep across the room but being the greedy bastard he was, Smoke set it to remain stationary on him and Mute didn’t complain. On his laptop, he sat along the width of his bed with his back pressed against the cool wall and he watched him out of the corner of his eye, briefly examining the white dressings on the side of his abdomen then the dark shadow on his cheeks where his stubble began to emerge. After a while, Smoke put down his phone and let out a loud yawn, looked over at Mute and smiled at him.

“What?” Mute asked, his tone dry as he attempted to give him the cold treatment which he had planned to do for a while now. It was never easy to stay mad at him.

“Could you hop down to the Seven-Eleven and get us a couple beers?” Smoke asked and reached for his wallet. There he pulled out a crisp hundred Hong Kong dollar note and held it out. “And some snacks too. Whatever you like.”

At first Mute did not move. He peered past his laptop screen at him and held a disapproving look. “Should you really be drinking beer in your condition?” He asked and raised a brow.

“It won’t hurt. C’mon,” Smoke urged, still holding out the bill. “Marky boy, please. I just want a beer. Let’s drink together, relax a little in the sun, eat some crisps,” he pleaded, almost whined, and Mute made a face, he had always had a strange dislike towards the nickname and Smoke knew it.

Reluctant, Mute set his laptop aside then took the money. He held it in his hands for a few seconds as he regarded the older man with a disappointed gaze. “Don’t get hurt while I’m gone,” he instructed and pocketed the bill. He reached for his phone and slipped on a pair of flip-flops.

He knew he shouldn’t be indulging him. Drinking with pain medication was a big no-no, even if it was the watered down stuff. Every passing thought told him to stop yet he was picking up a basket and strolling towards the chilled drinks aisle. There he picked up a six pack of beer and some water. Then in the snack aisle, he stared at the range of crisps, trying to infer which flavour from the colour of the packaging as he couldn’t read the text. He chose one bag which had chillis on it, then a can of Pringles and lastly one bag which had little shrimps on it. It would be entertaining to try.

At the counter, a dreary looking employee serviced him, lazily scanning each product. “Bag?” They held up a plastic bag to which Mute nodded. “Fifty cents,” they told him. He nodded again. The employee punched in the extra cost of a bag then continued to scan the rest of his purchases. The air con blasted in the background, chilling the sweat on the back of his neck and he stood there with his hands in his pockets, rather content at the sensation of goosebumps rising over his skin. Then as the employee read out the amount to pay, he snapped out of his daydreams and handed over the hundred dollar bill, received his change and slowly walked back to base.

The base was stationed near the coast, along a running and biking trail with a beach not far. One thing Mute forgot about going abroad was that now he was the foreigner. Heads turned as he passed, he was stared at as if he was an alien. Even back at base the recruits there were rather curious about the operators at Rainbow and often sparked conversations with them, asking of their home countries and what it was like. The act of meeting people from all over the world was something that brought Mute’s attention to joining Rainbow. While that was still something he enjoyed, he had priorities as of now and that was to deliver Smoke’s beers to him.

Their shared dormitory stood silent, still and empty when he entered. He peered around and furrowed his brows at Smoke’s empty bed, his flip-flops were no longer seen either and he escaped somewhere.

“James?” He called out.

“Yeah, over here!”

The sound of his voice came from the little balcony outside their room. The door was left ajar for fresh air to enter the room and Smoke sat slouched in one of the chairs. Mute walked out and put the bag down on the metal table, pried off the plastic that kept the cans together then pressed the icy cold beer onto Smoke’s bare chest. At the sudden sensation, Smoke hissed and recoiled, eyes opening and a grin flashing upon his face. He took the can.

“Thanks,” he mumbled and opened it. Mute couldn’t help but to smile at the small antic then opened a beer for himself and sipped. He paused and gestured at the rusted metal chair next to his own. “Sit down?”

Setting his beer down on the table, Mute shook his head and disappeared back into their dorm. Then he returned moments later with a small bottle of sunscreen. “Put it on,” he urged and handed the bottle to him. “If you get sunburnt, Kateb will have you by the balls and you’ll be getting more than a prostate exam.”

Smoke took the lotion and gingerly squirted some onto his palm. “I wouldn’t be complaining,” he uttered back with a smirk and smeared it over his chest, his abdomen. For a second Mute forgot to look away and watched, almost engrossed at the sight of Smoke lathering on the lotion and running his palms over his chiselled muscles, his abs then along the broadness of his pectorals, along with each shoulder and bicep until his upper body was sufficiently covered. Then Smoke handed the bottle back. “Get my neck, Marky-“

“Quit calling me that,” Mute nearly snapped back. His voice was sharp and tight, enough to make Smoke come to a screeching halt and the sudden pause between them became regrettable. Now Smoke was looking inquisitively towards him and leaned forward slightly so he could apply the sunblock to his shoulders and back.

“Why?” Smoke then asked and relaxed as Mute ran his hands along his heated skin, the sticky cream layering over his flesh felt cool when the rare breeze blew by. As Mute smeared some more across his shoulder blades he wondered how much longer he could keep doing this until it trespassed into questionable touching, either way, he tried to enjoy the feeling of Smoke’s muscles while he could.

“It’s condescending,” was Mute’s simple answer. He let the quietness simmer on for longer and Smoke did not try to retort or argue it was just a stupid nickname. Although, there was still a need to justify himself, so eventually Mute explained, “some guy used to call me that in uni. It makes me feel like a child, I hate it.”

The corners of Smoke’s lips flicked upwards. “You are one.” The response wasn’t unexpected. In fact, Mute predicted it from the second he gave him that information. It was always characteristic of Smoke to take something he learned and tease the living hell out of whoever it was. Mute refused to give him the reaction he wanted and stonily sat back down, drank his beer and looked towards the rest of the military base. He could feel Smoke staring at him, trying to assess the situation and what the hell was going on inside his head. “Hot, innit? Thirty-seven degrees, never felt that before, have ya?”

“Aye, no. I haven’t.” Mute did not look at him. He reached into the plastic bag, pulled out the small bag of crisps, the one with the little shrimps. He opened it, ate it and chewed slowly, face void of any emotion. Then Smoke’s greedy hand reached over and Mute stopped to let him take a few crisps.

“Liu tells me you guys went out for dim sum. Did you like it? I can take you again if you want.”

“Sure.”

They ate in silence, but it was the kind of silence which Smoke loathed. Something was wrong and he didn’t know why. Tension was stirring in the air and he continued to stare at his younger teammate and found his expression to be more brooding now, his lips curved into a frown and gaze downcast. The heat in the air amplified the slowness of his thoughts and so did the light alcohol. He took in a steady breath, the air that was thick with humidity and foreign to his lungs, and sighed it back out. Mute didn’t respond to it either and continued staring at the empty asphalt pitches where the heat warped the horizon.

The sun was shimmering over the surface of the water. In the distance boats drifted by and occasionally there was an aeroplane sweeping along the sky, arching over in preparation to hand at the runway of the airport. At this time in the afternoon, many soldiers were busy with training, doing their exercises and chanting as they did so. Green foliage swayed gently despite there being no wind and within crickets and cicadas were chirping, singing, bleating. The surroundings were new to them and the more they sat and appreciated the nature, the more they could make out.

However, for Smoke, all he could do was to focus on Mute. “Right, what’s the fucking matter?” He asked, impatient and frustrated now after waiting for perhaps a minute. Mute turned his head slowly and stared at him, almost feigning ignorance but the look in his eyes told him he knew exactly what the matter was. His words were caustic and stung as they came out, he was not one for beating around the bush and sending wordless signals. “Why the fuck are you acting so dry all the sudden? What did I do? You pissed over me calling you Marky? I can stop, just fucking… talk to me. Don’t act like a girl and give me this silent bullshit.”

The heat flushed his skin a reddened shade and like his hair, his shoulders were equally as deflated in the scorching weather. His eyes were round, blinking back and glimmering slightly as they became wetter. Then he swallowed thickly, Adam's apple bobbing, and chewed on his tongue. “You wanna know what the goddamn matter is?” Mute’s voice was soft and quiet- fragile. If he tried to speak any louder he knew he would crack. “I’ve told you time and time again not to act like a complete jackass during missions. What the fuck do you do this time? You rush out even though you knew they had a sniper. What happens? You get shot. I have to haul your ass out,” he began then inhaled shakily and his knuckles flashed white as he tightened his grip around his can and brought it to his lips for another sip. “You’re driving me insane.”

“Well, I killed them. That’s what matters, right? That’s our job, I’m trying to do it and my way worked,” Smoke responded in a simple, obtuse way that threatened to push Mute over the brink. “If you’re tired of saving my sorry ass then leave me to die. They’ll find someone to replace me soon enough like you replaced our last guy, right?” He gave a sardonic chuckle but Mute did not appreciate the dark humour. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know that. I get hurt all the time.”

“You got shot down, you were crawling towards me. You laughed and looked me in the eye, said it couldn’t be any worse than a paper cut but I could tell you were scared. Your blood was gushing out, I tried to stop it but I couldn’t. It got everywhere. All over my uniform, onto my skin, under my nails. I carried you out of there to the evacuation helicopter, I watched as the medics cut off your clothes and tried to stabilise you. I accompanied you to the hospital until Gustave promised me you’ll be fine. Mike took me back here and I showered, I washed your blood off me and I cried so hard b-because,” Mute paused to take in a small breath. Now in front of him, Smoke regarded him with reverence and guilt, silent as he listened. “I cried because I was so afraid I was going to lose you for good.”

Smoke’s lips pressed together into a thin line and his brows furrowed, his fingers fidgeting with the brim of his can to help his thoughts collect themselves. “Why?” He asked. “Why do you even care?”

“Maybe it’s because you don’t care about your own life, you’re suicidal or downright insane, but I care about you. I care when you get shot, or when you get into another stupid bar fight, ‘cos I don’t know what I’d fucking do if you were gone,” Mute told him. “You brighten up this place. If I were stuck with just Mike, Seamus and some other bloke I don’t think I’d even want to stay here forever. I’d be miserable. I like you, James. I really do.” Then he drank once again and let the fizz of the beer down his throat compose him, keep him anchored before he could fall apart in a mess of embarrassed tears. “And I’ve never lost anyone before. I don’t know what it’s like for someone close to me to die. I don’t want you to be the first.”

The cicadas filled their silence. A distant motorcycle roared to life and set off, cars and trucks stopped and went, quiet conversation passed by beneath them and during this time they stared at one another. The rare breeze blew whispering by and cooled the sheen of sweat settling on their golden skin.

Smoke opened his mouth to speak but no words came out initially. He stammered, touched by the response he was given and he was still trying to piece it all together. “I’m sorry,” he started and let those two words settle and take effect. The intense heat of the summer had every thought in his head tangled together and there were so many things he wanted to tell him yet he couldn’t do it. “I’ve always liked you, Mark,” he managed to admit, his voice quiet as if he was ashamed of it or even embarrassed. “I just never pursued it. I felt like we had boundaries between us and maybe you wouldn’t appreciate it if I tried to make moves.”

“Boundaries?” Mute inquired and continued to watch him. His arms were still crossed over his body, body turned away but his face tilted towards him, now paying attention. As cold as he seemed now, Smoke knew he would eventually come around. “What d’you mean?”

“Erm… I’m eleven years older than you, I’m your colleague and you’re a _dweeb_ about being professional so I assumed you wouldn’t be interested in anyone you worked with… let’s see, you’ve also been jumping in and out of relationships so often I never even know if you’re single or not. Do I need to continue?” Smoke’s lips twisted into a toothy grin as Mute scratched his cheek awkwardly. He sensed the humour wasn't quite working as he would've liked, and approached now with humility. “But yeah. It’s true. I’ve always thought you were kinda cute, y’know… you’re smart, you’re funny in a witty way and you laugh at the shit I do most of the time. I like you but I never knew if you liked me back.”

Mute took in a deep breath, shoulders tensing and chest puffing out as he tried to maintain his calmness. There was a whirlwind of emotions inside of him, from joy to anxiety to a horrific mixture of sadness and frustration. “I do, James. I do,” he told him and felt his brows knitting together, fingers balling up the fabric of his shorts because of how overwhelming his own thoughts were. The ache in his chest was poignant, the pain stirring from deep within where his thoughts were all trapped at the back of his throat. “And I want you to stop acting so… recklessly, okay? It scares me, and I know I’m making this overly sentimental but I-I _fucking_ care about you. I’m here for you and I don’t want you to throw your goddamn life away. Listen t-to me for once.”

Tears began to obscure his vision and Smoke’s face contorted with worry and remorse. “I will. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for making you worry like that,” he spoke softly and his hand reached to clasp over Mute’s which had been resting on the heated metal armrest of his chair. He squeezed firmly and the calluses on his palms brushed over the smooth skin of the back of Mute’s palms. “I’m such a dickhead, aren’t I?” He tried to comfort him, acting in such a tender way that only made Mute unable to hold himself together.

A surge of heat swept over his body. It was the sensation of finally letting go, allowing his walls to come collapsing with a bang and the tears to fall. Mute never liked crying. He was a grown man, yet weeping like a child. His teeth sank into the inside of his cheek and he hoped the pain could help him bring back the steely facade he had been holding but it didn’t. His lungs forced him to take small gasping breaths and his cheeks became damp rather quickly while his throat tightened until it felt as if a hand had clamped over his trachea. He hated this vulnerability, he waited for Smoke to tease him but he never did. His hands tried to hide his face, his crumpled expression but Smoke took hold of his hands and pried them away.

His palm reached up to cup his cheek and his thumb wiped away a glistening track of tears. “I’m notorious for making my crushes cry,” he told him and offered a smile which Mute mustered every morsel of his strength to return. “Pulling ponytails, getting stupidly drunk and humiliating them… now it’s taking bullets to the kidney, huh?” They shared a chuckle and Smoke left his hand resting there, his touch was soothing despite being hot against his skin. “I promise you I won’t do it again. Not on purpose. I’ll use my brain- assuming I have one.”

A long pause simmered between them, the kind where the silence seemed to last and there was something strong lingering in the air that told both of them this moment did not require words but actions. The intuition itself had boiled within them and they knew what the next steps were. Not to talk anymore but to finally recognise what had been developing between them for the longest time now. The sunlight rested comfortably on their skin and with mere inches between them Mute could make out the faint freckles on Smoke’s cheeks, and he adored all two million of them as much as he loved his shorter stature, his immature humour and loud voice. His body remained still, unmoving as Smoke gravitated towards him, almost testing the waters with his tentative gaze and his hand which tightened its gentle grip.

Their lips met in a firm kiss and Mute didn’t hesitate for a second to reciprocate. He responded just as eagerly, if not more, and let his hand move to Smoke’s bicep where he pulled him closer to feel more of him. Smoke’s hand drifted down to his neck, then slid to his nape where fingers brushed his short-cropped hair, only remaining there for a moment before he reached up to thread his hair through Mute’s curls, stroking his hair while his other hand grazed his jaw. The metal chairs squeaked as he shifted his weight to lean deeper into their kiss and his side ached stronger, yet he didn’t want to break away. Not now.

The scratch of Smoke’s stubble rubbed against Mute’s skin, irritated it until it flushed a deeper shade of red yet he wanted to experience the sensation until his skin was rubbed raw and tender. He gasped against Smoke and tasted the beer on his tongue but to him it was saccharine. His hands ran over his arms, then along his shoulders and felt his sticky skin, the emulsion of sunscreen and sweat. For someone as crude as Smoke, it was odd to feel him act in such a passionate way yet it strengthened Mute’s feelings for him.

Smoke was first to pull away after they knocked over his empty can and it fell with a clatter, the aluminium rolled along the warm tiles until it knocked against the foggy glass door. His face remained close and he studied Mute’s expression before he finally withdrew back to his chair and stopped straining his injury.

“Alright?” His voice was quiet now with its signature rasp, coarse and gravelly in a way which made Mute’s spine tingle. His hand still clasped over Mute’s and he didn’t move, he wasn’t going to move unless Mute wanted him to.

There was a lump in his throat, lodged there and breathing was difficult as if he was struck by another bout of tears. Mute nodded and sighed in a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said in a slight whisper and tried to stabilise himself. He wiped his lips with the back of his free hand and returned to watching the scenery, trying to focus on how the distant asphalt shivered under the blazing sun. As he did so his mind was painfully aware of the contact of their hands, the sweat that was forming between their skin. Usually, he would be repulsed, but now he found it to be a reassuring feeling.

He heaved in another lungful of the coastal air. The humidity clung to him, invaded every nook and cranny it could find like a haunting ghost. Even sitting here in plainclothes it was almost unbearable, he could clearly remember the struggle of fighting in uniform and mask the days prior and he squirmed internally at the memory of wheezing for air. The suffocating, feverish hotness cruelly coiled around his body and locked his limbs into painful cramps as bullets pinged past his head and all he could think about was where Smoke was, what he was doing, did he run off again to pursue a bomber. He was safe now and that was what mattered to him the most, along with his promise not to be so impulsive.

Out of the corner of his eye, a dark shape flitted along the ground. He recoiled out of instinct and his eyes snapped down, watching a swarthy cockroach skitter along the tiles, it’s black-wire antennae wiggling and sensing the space in front of it as it decisively skittered forwards, stopped by the empty beer can then veered towards the legs of the metal table. The both of them watched it with curiosity, Mute tucked his feet up onto his chair and grimaced as the creature moved along the grout where the tiles were bonded together and followed the trail. Smoke had his hands occupied with his second can of beer, finger tucked under the tab and about to open it but he held steady and anticipated. The cockroach neared his chair and with a sharp and sudden movement, he stomped hard on it.

A sickening crunch made Mute wince, he shut his eyes then looked down to see a splatter of deep maroon stark against the cream tiles, the corpse of the bug twitching as Smoke lifted his sandal off it. The sun dried and encrusted its blood onto the smooth surface, its carcass crisping over time and mangled limbs stiffening. Smoke wore a proud smile on his face and looked towards Mute, perhaps vying for his approval like how a cat may present a companion with a dead rat. The corners of Mute’s lips lifted, he chuckled under his breath then looked down at the grounds to see the Germans had returned from their sightseeing trip.

Smoke let out a quiet huff for air and yawned, his legs stretching out. He slouched a little more in his chair and propped his head upon his fist, cheek mushing into his knuckles while his other hand grasped around his cold beer, the droplets of water running down the metal and over his fingers. It was hot out. The heat threatened to lull them into an afternoon nap and prickled over their cheeks and forearms. Dragonflies zipped past the balcony like bullets, a beeping lorry backed onto the grounds of the military base and joyful chatter emerged beneath them as soldiers took their lunch break.


End file.
